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This has got to be the most insignificant but worthwhile event that has happened lately. I saw some kind of insect. I think some sort of beetle. It had fallen-and-it-couldn’t-get-up. It was stuck on it’s back and was scratching at the air to turn itself over. I thought about what intentions it had. Either genetics was programming it to survive or it thought about getting out of his situation. I intervened with an oversized wrench that was sitting 4 feet above the bugger. I picked up the wrench and proceeded to perform a live dissection. It was an easy cut that seemed to divide his top and bottom half perfectly. I looked at the split in two insect. There was a pause and I saw the head and the 2 legs still squirming in a heavier commotion. I felt bad. I needed to complete my needless injuries. Before passing the final blow, I examined the portion that was lifeless, although I imagined a couple twitch of the posterior legs. Round 2 and the wrench overcame. Within those moments chemicals exploded inside my body and my head was in a haze of abstract mystery. It’s not that I felt guilty. Inside was a palpitating heartbeat and a rush of adrenaline. It could be described as a panic attack in a existential sense. Being and subjecting myself and my actions on the beetle. The murder that took place was no different than the tale Albert Camus created in The Stranger.

What was left out of that story was a vivid emotional array by the Killer of the Arab. My interactive and personal intensities to the situation exceeded the rationality of the events.

For further reading of related microscopic importance (namely the death of bugs), read The Death of the Moth by Virginia Woolf. It is on the caring side but I share the same observations and relate to this story.

A moth recently visit my room after the previous events. I decided to let it fly. It remains in my room and I closed the door. Even after I had reopened the door, it stayed. It was more lively the the other victim I had erased from motion. It had a quasi-frantic random flying pattern about it. It would take breaks and find unusual spots to take five. It overwhelmed my attention and its eye grabbing flutters did not annoy me but gave me reason to feel entertained. I lost sight of it leter on and now I can only hope that it’s not dining on a sweater or whatever moth diets consist of…